By Johnny Utah
Based on a suggestion by MetalbondNYC
I don’t know how long I was sitting there. My arms were really stiff, cuffed behind my back. My butt was sore and cold from sitting in the dirt. Was Foreman Brodie just going to leave me here? I was miserable with my piss-soaked head and my hard on.
Eventually out of the dark I saw Johnson. He was in his boxers and boots. He wasn’t wearing leg irons; for some reason that made me scared. What happened?
He came up to me. “Looks like you’re in quite a state,” he said.
“Yes, Tent Boss,” I dejectedly replied.
“I got the keys. Hold still,” Johnson said as he unlocked the chain to my collar and then my handcuffs. “Hold on, let me get the leg irons too.” I stayed sitting down.
“What about the collar?” I asked.
“No,” said Johnson. “That stays on. I don’t have a key for that.”